


Final Goodbyes

by Engiffyserce



Category: Sly Cooper (Video Games)
Genre: Gen, I hate myself, Multi, the pain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 20:34:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3395465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Engiffyserce/pseuds/Engiffyserce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wondered how your ancestors died? Did you ever think about how they felt in their final days? Like, did they die from blood loss, or a tumor, or maybe old age? I do, Bentley. I wonder what my dad and mom felt. Pain? Sadness? I’d like to know one day.<br/>When Sly Cooper has to face one of his most profound attractive fears, his journey takes him back through time to say his final goodbyes. But, one can only control that fear so much before it takes them. Will he have the power to stop everything he so wished wouln't exist?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Final Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

> You'll all hate me, I'm telling you.

_Have you ever wondered how your ancestors died? Did you ever think about how they felt in their final days? Like, did they die from blood loss, or a tumor, or maybe old age? I do, Bentley._

_I wonder what my dad and mom felt._

_Pain? Sadness?_

_I’d like to know one day._

                “Sly,” A voice jarred the young raccoon. His brown eyes flashed, showing he was back to reality. He took a deep breath, fingers brushing against the white railing on the Paris rooftop. It was smooth and lacquered just like he remembered it. The chilled breeze ruffled his fur and pulled a sharp exhale from his lungs.

                He had missed his dear home.

                The Cooper turned, leaning up against the railing and crossing his arms against his chest. Automatically, he faced a disabled turtle with every gadgetry money could offered built into his stainless steel wheelchair. His glasses captured the sunlight just right to keep his eyes concealed.

                For as dark as he seemed, the crooked smile on his face gave him away.

                Bentley, Sly’s long life friend, was greeting the master thief with a preposition of a heist.

                They were supposed to have a meeting in five minutes. The turtle must have come up to talk to him privately, Sly thought. It happened often, especially now with such a large team. Dimitri and the Panda King were now permanent members along with the beautiful Carmelita. Not to mention they had decided to pull up some new thieves to join their escapades. A young jaguar, a spunky hyena, and a quick witted white-winged crossbill.

                After Sly had been rescued from Ancient Egypt, Bentley insisted on some fresh faces.

                “Hey, bud. What’s up?” He answered, turning back to the banister, supporting himself with his elbows. The turtle wheeled forward, stopping to sit next to his friend.

                “You promised me you’d stop thinking about that,” He vaguely answered, staring out to the streets below. He was composed and stern, but never angry in his tone. Every small bit of him was wrapped into a neat package of wisdom, curiosity, and concern.

The Cooper’s tailed flicked nervously, shoulders tensing. His mask creased at the bridge of his muzzle as he let his head hang, closing his eyes. “What am I supposed to stop thinking about again, Bentley?” He asked, voice dripping with a mix of sarcasm and guilt.

                Classic Cooper despair.

                “Out of all of us, you have almost died the most. I thought that would be incentive enough for you to stop searching for it. It’s been six months since you were in Egypt and six months since we, or more precisely Carmelita, found you-” Bentley’s voiced faded as the memory washed over his conscious like acid.

                He had always envied Sly for not being able to remember that humid evening.

                “And yet I still don’t know what it feels like to _live_. I steal to survive and I survive to steal. The only time I felt alive was with Carmelita and now it’s once again impossible for us to be together. And no, one night stands don’t count,” The raccoon’s answer was monotonous and bitter, but no sense of disgust played the words as they so gracefully could have.

                “Then tell her that, Sly. Tell her that you love her and want to be with her. I’m sure that would be a relief to her _and_ us. You’ll indirectly kill yourself looking for something you’ve had for almost a decade now, Cooper. We don’t want to lose you again,” The turtle’s words preceded silence by both parties. Neither could say more or less to the subject. Bentley was right and continued to be right. He always had. Bentley turned away, starting back towards the exit of the roof.

                Sly stood up, opening his eyes and turned around. He took off his mask, taking a step forward. “Bentley, wait,” He called, receiving an immediate halt from the other. The turtle turned around, watching the young thief with sadness in his eyes.

                The Cooper took a deep breath, allowing his mask to fly in the soft breeze, hands empty and face fully exposed. It was his sign of total vulnerability and acknowledgement of the truth. The other was surprised, seeing as this had only happened once before:

                he had left with Carmelita.

                “How did you find me in Cairo?” The wind picked up, pulling Bentley’s attention to the way it was blowing. The now abandoned mask danced in the subtle winds as he formed the answer.

                It hadn’t been a pretty sight and everyone had blamed themselves for it. The whole plan had gone wrong and they could do nothing about it. And before now, none of them could bring themselves to tell Sly what had happened, what they had seen. They knew it would take his questioning to bring the answer forward.

                “Brainwashed by the foolish villains and trying to kill us. We had been surrounded by giant Scarab beetles. With Carmelita’s shock pistol being one of our best weapons, we decided to make it lethal. My coordinates were wrong and the strategy went haywire. Dimitri was captured and the Panda King had been knocked out. After being surrounded, Murray missed a punch and slammed into Carmelita. Her finger slipped and you were caught in the crosshair,” He was short and quick to the hit. He blinked, eyes gloomy.

                Sly gulped, fingers twitching nervously. He hadn’t ever been told this. No wonder Carmelita wouldn’t face him.

                “And.”

                “And?”

                “And she watched you die.” A horrified look crossed Sly’s face and his ears folded back automatically. His irises pinned and his mind went blank. Bentley stayed as he was, lips pressed thin as he awaited the shock to set in. “The gang went back to try again. You don’t remember it because the shot only nicked you the second go around. We managed to get you home to a hospital in time to save you. She still blames herself for the necessity of the surgeries afterward.”

                The turtle turned around, rolling away. He stopped at the door. “You’re more important to this team than you seem to realize. Even the cop that has been following your case since we played around in Russia and Spain twelve years ago is now willing to give everything up for you and you _alone_ , Sly, similar to the rest of the team. Don’t make us regret those decisions.” He opened the door and disappeared with a click of the lock.

                The Cooper stood there, dumbfounded. His fingers traced the fabric of his sweater above where the long scar from his blunder in Ancient Egypt lay. It made sense why everyone was so painfully distant from him in the first few months.

                Murray didn’t eat as much and barely touched him as if he were fragile glass.

                Bentley never spoke to him in a kind way. It was always robotic.

                Dimitri wanted to make sure his friend was always comfortable and made it easy enough for Sly to be a lazy housecat.

                The Panda King would walk out of the room when he entered, careful to dismiss himself ever so gracefully.

                And Carmelita? Carmelita forced herself to look away from him. Everything she did seem to be thinly veiled behind a happiness. Under it, she was always holding back tears. Her voice would shake and anytime she had to touch him she’d act as if he was molten lava.

                Sly fell against the railing, sliding down to sit on the cold, pale, Paris roof. He stared at the door, wondering how much he had forgotten about his team, his friends, his _family_.

_I don’t know, Sly. But death isn’t fun to think about. I just hope we don’t face it too often._

_Besides, love is a lot more powerful than death ever will be._

_Promise me you’ll remember that._

                He managed two words. Two simple and mundane words put together. The sound of his voice didn’t even exist. It was only the soft mouthing of the three syllables, but they meant the same.

                “I promise.”

                And he began to cry.

 


End file.
